The Red Sun, the Ease of Conversation
by Mithrigil
Summary: After Youko's proclamation in episode thirty-nine, Youko and Rakushun have a much-needed conversation.


**The Red Sun, the Ease of Conversation**

**twelve kingdoms**

Mithrigil Galtirglin

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"I think your first proclamation was…" He's bothered for a word, and his cheeks ruffle downward, the whiskers twitting almost to the tablecloth. "There is a better word than 'bold', but not one as strong as 'audacious'. And not as negative." He intertwines his paw pads around the teacup. "Assertive."

Youko—for she will always be Youko in her own mind, well, she can't say _always_ but she hopes so at least—nods, and lowers her eyes. "That was…well, that was the point. One of the points." She sips her tea, watches Rakushun's eyes, huge and glinting and maybe something's changed? She hopes not. "A part of it's kind of selfish. I trust all my ministers now, but when I didn't I think part of it was that every time they bowed, I wondered if they were mocking me. And then I thought that every time someone bowed to someone like Shoukou, they certainly didn't mean it. So I thought… I mean, I can't force people to be honest, but I can at least take away the laws that make them lie. So that was part of it."

"That so," Rakushun says, maybe asks, then drinks a long, slow drawl of his tea. Youko wonders how it got to be so easy, how, when he learned to tilt the cup at an angle to get around his front teeth. "I'm glad it's not the only reason."

"So am I," she laughs. "Thought I don't think the other reasons are any less selfish, when you look at them some ways. I mean, if—aah, there are going to be people writing me into history…" She winces and puts her teacup down. "I mean, if the people who write history want to paint my actions as selfish, I think they'll be able to. But I at least know that they're not. Or that I didn't mean them to be."

"In that case, I hope I get to be the one to write your history," Rakushun says.

Youko's blush gets a little worse when she remembers she's not wearing any makeup to hide it. "I think I'd like that."

"I'm not sure I want to become sen-nin just yet, though," he admits, tail swishing a bit, just off reach of the floor. Why does Youko wonder now how he balances on chairs so constantly, how long it took him to learn? "After Daigaku, if my exams go well. En-ou keeps insinuating that he wants me around," Rakushun says, and there's this little sparkle in his huge not-quite-black eyes that means he's got at least one reservation about that. "I think it'll depend on who's ruling Kou also. I mean, if the new King and the new Kirin welcome hanjyuu, I'd like to make my home a better place. But if I can't…" He doesn't finish, taps his claws on the teacup again. The sunset seems a little early today, coming in low from outside and glinting on his sanded claws.

"You're welcome here," Youko says. "You're always welcome here."

"I'd be honored," he laughs, "but I don't want people thinking I only got the job because I'm friends with the Queen."

"It wouldn't be true," she says.

"Just like it wouldn't be true if whoever writes your history makes you out to be selfish."

"I'm sick of appearances." Her hand is sweating a little against the teacup—the pattern is one of letters, inked into the porcelain, a poem, and this is either the first or second line: _warmth is not lost, but taken in_ "I miss you."

"I miss you too," he says. When she looks up, he's—he'd been reading his teacup too, but not the cup itself, he'd been staring at the steam curling out of the tea.

_Assertive_ she thinks. _Not just bold, but not as negative as 'audacious'._

"I think the best histories are the ones that are told by someone who was a part of it," she says. "They might not be impartial, but at least they're aware that they aren't."

He smiles again, down at the tea and the table and the last of the sunlight. "That so," he says again, softer this time.

She remembers that this new age is already named for him.

They don't-drink in silence, for a while. She's the first to look off the terrace at the last sliver of the cherry-red sun; he does too, eventually, but without turning, without lifting his elbows from just beneath the edge of the table or uncrossing his paws. There's a clicking sound—his toes curling, under the table, and those claws tapping against each other. Not that her feet are still either, she's been swerving her heel, tilting her ankle, not that these shoes are the most comfortable thing in the world already, but…

The shadows of the tea service stretch almost to the table's edge. "I do…I do hope that the new ruler of Kou is wise enough to see how much he can learn from you," she says. It sounds too final.

Rakushun is looking at her now, up with the steam. His eyes seem paler, and his whiskers and eyelashes are raised in a smile. "Ah, so now the truth comes out. You don't just miss me, you need my insight."

"I—" If this was Asano-kun, would that be a…would that be flirting?

She turns the teacup around in her hands, and reads the rest of the poem: _in time, as truest friends_

"Would you write that down as history?" She tries to smile back, but her cheeks and the back of her neck are still warm.

"I might," he says, "if I thought it was true."

"It might be."

She's seen him embarrassed before, but still doesn't know exactly _what_ about his body says so. It's a lot of little gestures that when put together just register, and Youko can't quite put her finger on which they are. Turning down his eyes, probably…but other things too. He opens his mouth to say something—and then closes it.

"Sorry," she says, at the same time he does, but not with the same actual word for 'sorry', his is stronger. And then, "No it's—" at the same time he says, "But Youko—"

"You first," she says, hoping that she's not as red as her hair at this point.

He laughs, a little, and there's that clicking sound again, this time from him guiding the teacup around his teeth and drinking before he speaks. She can hear the gulp from where she is. "I'm not sure you need my insight. You're…I think you're going to be a wonderful Queen and I don't want you to be insecure about it. Or rely on me or anything."

"I don't want that to happen either, but…" She puts down her cup as well, lets go of it, puts her hands in her lap and tries not to look down. "I don't think I'm relying on Keiki or the ministers or any of the others right now…or at least, I'm trying not to. If you were here I wouldn't do that either. Or I'd try. I know I'm not supposed to…to _depend_ on anyone. The Ruler is no longer human, can't marry…I'm…" She holds back the next few words, and one of them was 'worried' and another one was 'not', "…about that…"

Rakushun still calls her Youko. It cools off the back of her neck to hear it. She watches his nose twitch, so quickly. "Youko," he says again. "I don't know if that's something we should talk about, then—"

"No," she says, and it's both agreement and not, "you're right, but I don't want to just not talk about it. If I wasn't Queen, then maybe?"

"If you weren't Queen, you wouldn't be Youko."

It's not as funny as her laugh makes it out to be, but it _is _worth a smile. "That's just being diplomatic."

"To tell the truth," he says, "yes, I could see…um. I don't know if I deserve it. But I do think we would work well together. But—" His cheeks shuffle and shudder, his paws slip. "But I've noticed that, among kaikyaku, and taika…I don't think getting married means the same thing. —And it can't be helped," he adds on, too quickly for her to really process what he actually said. "And there's nothing wrong with that, it's just…something I don't understand."

"…I don't think I do either," Youko says.

Do rats blush? She thinks he might be. "Marriage…is like what the Ruler is supposed to have with the Taiho. Like what you and Keiki have. Where you need the other person's flaws to balance out your strengths, and the other way around. It's about making up the other half of something stable and nurturing so that Tentei grants you a child. That's probably part of why the Ruler doesn't marry, there's already enough to worry about, and there's already someone who rounds out your half."

"Yin and Yang," Youko mutters.

"…Yes," Rakushun says, looking up. "I think we're talking about the same thing."

"And that works in this world—"

"—But not in Hourai," he finishes for her. "I think the kaikyaku are used to a little more…agency, in their world. From what I've read, and from talking to you and En-hou, the gods in your world just don't speak as loudly, or as quickly."

Youko nods.

"So, while love is…while there _is_ love here, it doesn't mean as much. To marriage, I mean."

_in time, as truest friends_ she reads, _warmth is not lost, but taken in._

"I have danced in plays about love," Youko says. "I have nearly been sold to a pleasure house. I have been called to the throne because the Queen before me fell in love with someone she shouldn't have. I've…been told that it's inappropriate, awkward, to hug a boy my own age in the street. There _is_ love in this world," she says—assertive. "And it's not just because of the people who weren't born here."

"Right," he says, and picks up his teacup. His has the same verse inked into it, she sees, between the crisscross of his paws.

She says it with her eyes raised. "Can I love you, Rakushun?"

He doesn't keep his face down when he answers, either. "I think that's all right."

---

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End file.
